21 times England did the deed
by Mizu-Tenshi
Summary: Written for the kink meme. England's sexual history from the ones he was serious with to those he toyed with, from the ones that made him happy and the ones that hurt. US/England, France/England, Prussia/England, Japan/England etc


Written for the kink meme Not at all in chronological order. twenty-one drabbles for twenty-one times in history where England did it with someone.

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****His first**

'Big brother' France seemed so knowledgeable and so grown up back then.

England had been scared, no, terrified would have been a better word. He did not want it at all, not when it came with fire and blood and bodies of dead men riddled with arrows. 'Invading your vital regions' France had called it. If this was what 'adult play' was all about then he did not understand its appeal.

He thought it would be more romantic, gentler perhaps, like the way the ladies at court blushed and the knights took their hands as if they were crystal roses, instead of what it was at that moment; rough and burning, his back scratched and bleeding against the rough fields of Hastings, sweating and crying out in painful ecstasy.

It was unrelenting, merciless. France smiled and teased him for wanting to go a little slower, to stop and let him catch his breath.

But England would forgive him since France loved him. How could he not? This was the sort of thing that people in love did after all and France had promised to take care of him.

If this was not love then what was?

**His best**

Fingers sticky with whipped cream and caramel. The sweetness of sugar with the salty taste of cum, his brothers poured honey over his abdomen and licked it up.

England swore at them profusely, challenged the bonds around his wrists and found them tight. He swore some more and tried to look as if he was not enjoying it.

Breathy moans thrummed against the inside of his thighs, hands on his cock, teasingly fondling him. England forgot his humiliation and let his voice cry out in pleasure as they rocked him to a desperate climax.

The morning after, he was the United Kingdom of Great Britain.

**His worst**

It was sad that England had to admit his best had been with people he completely loathed whilst his worst was with a nation he rather respected - or had until the declaration of war - and still respected once they were on peaceful terms again.

The scars that ran jagged all over his chest reminded him of his worst. He fought every inch of the way as Germany tried to pin him down and strip him, refusing to cry even when the sound of the Blitz shocked his body as much as Germany's forced entrance.

**His most spontaneous**

His alliance was just another means to annoy France. However, when Prussia grabbed him one night and rammed him against the side of a wall, kissing him with all the ferociousness he had shown during the battle, England decided there were better reason for the alliance than just pissing off France.

**His most desired**

West Indies had been beautiful. A jewel of the South whose hair was darker than a moonless night and whose sun-kissed skin received eternal warmth.

And England seduced her with smiles and lies and empty flattery. He inhaled the smell of cocoa butter on her skin, trailing kisses down her smooth legs to the tip of her elegant feet. Her kisses were like sugar cane and her skin like cotton.

**His most embarrassing**

Denmark. Alright, he would admit it; Denmark had once gotten on him like a horse and rode him until he was sore and aching all over. Even to this day and age, England could not think of a pole-axe without blushing.

What could he say? Denmark had been a crazy, axe-wielding maniac with a metal chest plate and a pointy hat.

**His most heart-wrenching**

He never cried during sex but for that one time. That one time when Canada licked his tears away and fondled him gently, respectfully silent and smiling in that sad, wistful manner of his.

England wrapped his arms around Canada's neck, holding on to him as if he would disappear if he let go. He breathed another name as they kissed, the name of the one who had left him.

"America."

And the fact that Canada still smiled and promised to be there for him was the most heart-breaking of all.

**His most boring**

Do not enjoy it. To enjoy it is a sin. The sexual act is only meant for the purpose of procreation or, in their cases, to solidify an alliance. God and the Church will never forgive you if you surrender to the concupiscence of lust.

Needless to say, England did his duty and Romano lay on his back and obeyed.

**His most public**

Everyone knew that they were doing it. Everyone knew that if they opened a closet or a broom cupboard at a world meeting the two of them would tumble out, lips locked in heated passion, bodies grinding against each other as if their determined to conquer their separated existence.

They had the privilege of being as loud as they wanted, doing it wherever and whenever they wanted without more than a few glares.

Well, England supposed, it would not be called a special relationship if they were not allowed to otherwise

**His most boast worthy**

Spain, he could never look straight at without some sense of satisfaction. Everyone had said that he would never top Spain of all people, and England had the satisfaction of proving each and every one of them wrong - especially France, the bastard.

"Don't tell Romano! Don't tell Romano!" Spain, bound in chains aboard the creaking vessel, begged.

Sometimes, during particularly boring world meetings, Arthur's eyes would drift to that seat and he would wonder if he could still make Spain beg.

**His most hated**

Nails biting into France's arms, back arched in pleasure, body covered with bite marks, England wanted to hurt him as much as he wanted to fuck him, maybe more. He threaded his fingers through blond hair dulled with sweat. Hands seized with anger, his fingers curled into fists, pulling out clumps of golden strands.

Francis swore and bit his lip when they kissed, drawing blood he then lapped carefully with his tongue. The heat of their bodies growing, friction increasing, he plunged his length into England.

Every time France thrust deeper into him.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

Every time England rocked his hips.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

**His most risqué**

At midnight he slipped through the back door of Seychelles' house. France would kill him if he knew where he was at that moment but that was what made their rendezvous all the more sweet.

**His most disastrous**

What possessed him to try and sneak into Scotland's pants, he would never know. He must have been high on pixie dust to even want to tongue wrestle with his older brother.

It started with England accosting him on his way to Glasgow, determined to gain a hold of Scotland's vital regions.

It ended with him being thrown across the border, naked, dazed, and wondering what the hell had happened.

**His most fucking awesome**

He did not want to rush him. He liked Japan, he liked their alliance, liked the company of a sane, polite individual who loved tea and folk stories as much as he did, but it was for these reasons that he did not want to rush into things and screw up what could potentially be a beautiful friendship.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, low and breathy. He promised to be gentle, promised to take it slow with Japan so as not to hurt him.

Japan looked at him shyly and nodded. "If _you _are sure, England-san."

Three hours later England was dazed, tied up to the bed post in bondage with a vibrator up his arse and Japan's cock in his mouth having the best damn sex of his life.

**His most uncomfortable**

Russia's ramming his pole up him was an experience he never forgot. Nor did he forget sucking off France whilst Russia pole-fucked him with one hand and pulled France in a series of long lengthy kisses with the other.

Of course, neither could he forget Belarus' murderous glare.

**His most politically beneficial**

Running the ink brush over China's skin, he was tempted to paint the word 'mine' on his back. He refrained. The age of empires was gone, replaced by the age of international politics and trade partners.

China was a good trading partner. His goods were quick and cheap. England knew that if he continued to rise, his boss would want to extend their relationship.

"Hey, what's Chinese for fair-weather friend?" England asked, smirking.

China took the brush from his hand and pushed him into a sitting position.

"Let me show you," he painted England's chest.

**His most drunken**

He hardly knew who he was sucking off beyond the cloud of hazy drunkenness. He could hardly tell whether he was the one crying out or one of the others.

Limbs entangled, naked bodies curled around each other as the radio played God save the Queen, Stars and Stripes forever, The song of Marseille, and every other patriotic song imaginable to celebrate their victory over the Axis Powers.

Beer and wine bottles tumbled over in discarded piles of clothes, fumbling hands pumped his cock, sloppy kisses were given and received, hands raked over sweaty skin and mouths nipped at his ear lobes, his nipples, his neck.

He sang "God save our gracious Queen! Long live our noble Queen!" with barely any clarity. Who he thrust into as he sang, he had no idea.

**His gentlest**

By the time America came to him, he wanted to lie down and sleep until the next century. He was too worn out to fight any more, too battered and bruised to move.

The worry was evident on America's face but England did his best to smile and assure him that he was okay.

And America, looking as though he was about to cry, knelt besides him and slowly unbuttoned England's shirt, kissing each and every wound he came across with gentle reverence.

**His most convenient**

Kissing after meals had become a custom. Their kissing lead them to the bedroom and then, inevitably, under the sheets, in each others arms.

He would always stop by Hong Kong's place when he was in Asia. It was nice having someone who would put him up for the night whenever he was so far from home.

"Do you love me?" he asked, running a finger between Hong Kong's shoulder blade, at the point where the wings would be if Hong Kong were to suddenly sprout them. How long had it been since he had used the word 'love' even in jest? It had to be the plum wine talking.

Hong Kong sighed into the mountainous range of the pillows. "I am…grateful to you," he said.

**His most scandalous**

Freckles and hair like fire. Northern Ireland looked so much like her brother. England wondered if Ireland made the same sounds as she did, if he also moaned to have his nipples sucked and if he had the same love mark on the back of his knee.

**His most breathtaking**

She loved him. She would not marry anyone else; she loved him with more force and passion than anyone could comprehend.

She loved him above the poets who sung her praises; above Spenser who wrote seven volumes in praise of her beauty, above Raleigh who braved the seven seas for her, above King Philip's gold and power, above Drake's heroism and handsomeness.

She loved him even when she grew old, even when she lost the beauty her courtiers praised her for, even as she grew sick and weak she loved him all the more.

And he, as they bore her coffin through the streets, closed his eyes and remembered her ivory skin pressed against his and his fingers in her red hair, sighing 'Elizabeth, my dear Elizabeth,' against her perfumed breast.

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Thanks for reading. As many people have been asking me about who England's 'most public' one was. Yes, it's America. I thought 'special relationship' would have been clue enough but I forget that not everyone might be familiar with the term.

Each section has its own historical reference and if anyone is interested you can find them here (Remove the spaces and brackets):

http://(space)mizumimi.(space)livejournal.(space)com/(space)8668.(space)html(space)#cutid1


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